Page 179 of Hiding in the Outfield

I don’t stop when I get to him. I haul him to me and claim those lips. His mouth is still stretched in a smile beneath mine, and his laughter breathes into my lungs. It’s like kissing pure happiness. I tighten my arm around his back and pull back just enough that I can meet his gaze.

Someone slaps the back of my head, and I turn my grin on Schultz. He has Amy in his arms, one of his boys on his shoulders, the other on Amy’s hip. Everyone is all smiles. There is nothing but flashing white teeth on this field right now.

“Congrats, Jackson,” Amy says. She leans forward and busses Frankie’s cheek. “I think I speak for all of us when I say we couldn’t be happier to have you two join our Berkeley family.”

“Even if you are a showoff,” Schultz says with a goofy grin.

His son, Lucas, holds out his fist. “Killer hit, Olander.”

I dab him. “Thanks, big man.”

Jake steps up to me, arms spread wide. He cocks a brow.

I launch myself at him.

“So proud of you, little bro,” he whispers tightly.

I squeeze him extra hard, then step back, a lump building in my throat. “Thanks for being here.”

And I don’t just mean here at this game, though I know how difficult it was for him to get out here in the middle of football season. He’s hopping on an early morning flight first thing tomorrow to head home.

We’ve been in constant contact since everything went down with Mom and Dad. Somehow, we’re the closest we’ve ever been, even though there’s an entire country between us. And apparently, we have more in common than either of us thought, if the discussion we had last night about a certain QB he coaches is any indication.

He’s a phone call away whenever I need him, or vice versa. Like when Mom reached out, and I didn’t know what to do. He gave me the courage I needed to tell her I wasn’t ready to speak with her. Which ended up for the best, because I found out it was just a ploy for my dad to get World Series tickets. Maybe one day, but right now, I only have space for people who love me.

Jake and I have both been processing everything together and have finally realized how absent affection was in our lives growing up. I never once felt loved by them, and talking with Jake, I know he feels the same way. We’re doing better at showing it with each other. It’s not always easy; we have decades’ worth of conditioning that showing emotions equates weakness, but I have a lot of really great people around me who make it easier each and every day to tear down those barriers.

My biological parents might not be in my life any longer, but I have true parents now. Ones that text me almost every day. Frankie’s parents treat me like I’m a son of their own. They flew out to San Francisco and helped us apartment hunt until we found a place. They’ve come out to watch my games—they wanted to be here for this one too but couldn’t make the trip. I can’t wait to see them when we get back to Providence. Rosa and I have some more of Frankie’s baby albums to go through.

Somehow that hits harder for me. They had no obligation to love me, yet they opened their hearts to me as though I had always belonged there. They want to love me. Those are the people I have room for in my life now.

Jake lifts his fist, his smile a little wobbly. “Love you.”

I knock his fist. “Love you, too.”

Eli Derby, one of my fellow outfielders, comes running over, La Cruz on his back like usual.

“Woahhhh there! Despacio, despacio!” La Cruz calls out, and Derby rears to a stop like the steed he is. La Cruz hops off Derby and gives him a pat. “Was just doing a victory lap.”

We all laugh, and I’m grateful for the break in the heavy moment.

Derby punches my shoulder. “Amazing, Olander. Damn, that was sooo pretty. I keep closing my eyes and reliving it.”

My grin widens. “Thanks, man.”

La Cruz finishes giving both my brother and Frankie handshake-hugs, then turns back to us. “All right, who’s ready to shower in champagne!” He starts dancing, belting out the chorus of Bad Bunny’s “Booker T.”

Hell yeah, we’re the fucking kings. We’ve done it. The fucking champions.

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Frankie says and shoots me a wink.

La Cruz jumps up and down, cackling. God, the man’s joy is infectious. He reminds me so much of Shane.

I wrap my arm around Frankie’s shoulders, and we start walking toward the dugout, where the entrance to the clubhouse is.

Our gazes snag.

“I love you,” he murmurs. Those brown eyes shine up at me. With pride. With joy. Because he feels it too. We’re connected in every way. We ride the highs and battle the lows. Together.